


dust to dust

by comtessedebussy, thenightpainter



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Background Max/Anne Bonny, Background other canon relationships, Canon Parallel, Dreams, Flashbacks, Implied Sexual Content, James has PTSD, James is in A Bad Place, M/M, Not historically or archeologically accurate, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past shitty relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Quite a lot of discussions about said PTSD, This might get a bit Silver critical towards the end - just a heads up, Thomas is a professor and writer, Violence - but nowhere near canon typical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-01 03:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11477424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comtessedebussy/pseuds/comtessedebussy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightpainter/pseuds/thenightpainter
Summary: History professor and author, Thomas Harper, comes across an interesting document concerning Captain Flint while conducting research for his latest book about the untold stories of queer pirates. For some reason he can't let it go, and decides to research it further only to find that his research starts creeping into his mysterious dreams of a beautiful redheaded man named James...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to my very amazing beta [brightbluedot](https://brightbluedot.tumblr.com/)(palebluedot on AO3)
> 
> Special thanks also to [comtessedebussy](http://comtessedebussy.tumblr.com/), The Instigator of Angst
> 
> There's at least 10 chapters planned, most likely more.

At the cafe Thomas was greeted by an unusual sight. Jack Richards, his old friend from college, now archeologist, sitting at one of the small tables with a large wooden crate.

“Jack, you didn’t have to bring it in person! You could have just sent it in the mail!” Thomas stared down at the box.

“Oh no, not this one. There’s some very valuable letters in here, the collector wanted to me to guard it with my life. Besides, I missed London,” Jack answered, but that seemed to only be half the truth.

“You wanted to see Andy didn’t you?” Thomas accused and Jack sent him an unhappy glance. “Well anyway, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Since I’ve gone through all the trouble of procuring these documents for you, perhaps you wouldn’t mind finally telling me what this book is all about? I know you’ve been looking into pirates? Who is is about?” He asked, changing the subject back to the box. “Maybe Charles Vane and Calico Jack Rackham? Or perhaps Captain Flint, I imagine there’s quite a few mysteries there?” Jack sat up excitedly.

“Well, I think Captain Flint’s story is quite well known, and so are those of the other two. I’m interested in the untold stories, the ones about Anne Bonny and Mark Read, as well as an interesting woman, Eleanor Guthrie, who wasn’t a pirate herself, but managed trade through Nassau for almost 10 years.”

“Oh wow, I’ve always wondered about those two. Please do send me a copy when it’s out, I hope I get a credit or acknowledgment somewhere for all the things I’ve been sending you.”

“Yes, you will, of course.” Thomas smiled.

They ordered their breakfast, and it was rather pleasant, except the occasional odd looks the waitress would cast at the box.

Thomas glanced at his phone, checking his emails, while Jack focused intently on the TV in the corner. There were three emails from El, and another from the publishers regarding sending in the final draft of the upcoming book. It was all set, except for several details Thomas still wanted to look into. Thomas let his mind drift back to his book. There were just a few things he needed to finish, he’d been chasing the stories for so long and every detail he could back up was crucial. There was a particular woman, a tavern owner, he was trying to find more information about now, there were some details that were unclear. Especially around her name, everything he’s read has only documented her as “Max”. Although not much personal information about her was known, it seemed like she was the woman running Nassau behind the governor for some time. He was growing rather impatient at the thought of what the package might contain.

“Americans,” Jack scoffed at the TV, interrupting Thomas’ train of thought.

“What did they do this time?” Thomas turned to look at the screen.

_“The fight broke out around 1:30 AM at The Lotus nightclub in Hell’s Kitchen. Witnesses aren’t entirely sure how the fight broke out or who had started it, but it wasn’t long before it turned into an all-out brawl. Three ambulances were sent to the scene and all but one man involved have been sent to the hospital.”_

“That sort of thing happens everywhere, Jack! Besides, aren’t you one of them now? Doesn’t that sort of thing happened all the time where you live now?” Thomas asked, still not quite knowing the reasons for Jack’s sudden choice to move to Georgia several years earlier.

“Oh yes, I told you about the fight I nearly got into last year didn’t I? If it wasn’t for Charles I’d never have made it out of there.”

“Yes, Jack, you’ve told me the stories.”

“ _Well this has been a truly bloody Sunday night, the nightclub was forced to close down and it seems it will take some time to get the necessary repairs done. New sources tell us that all this started because of a comment on a man’s ring._ ”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Thomas, I’m off to have lunch with my ex-wife and her wife. Have a good day.” Jack announced, standing to leave.

“Goodbye, Jack,” Thomas replied.

It was a good thing the cafe was only a short walk from his office at the university, because the box proved to be more difficult than he’d thought. Thomas wondered how on earth Jack had managed to get to get it to the cafe in the first place.

“Good morning.” He greeted El, a recent research assistant and friend who was helping him with his book. She’d taken on the role of assistant, proofreader and provided more moral support than Thomas could have ever asked for.

“Thomas, the publishers called, and have you confirmed that you are speaking at the PEN Festival yet?” she started.

“I’ll call the publisher later, and yes, I have,” Thomas reassured her.

“Oh by the way, my friend runs a queer history podcast, I told her about the upcoming book and she wants to interview you when it’s out. Would you be up for it?”

“Sound good, set it up! Now, I’d like to get to opening this package, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Is that the one from Jack? Do you need any help?,” she asked, motioning to the crate.

“No, thank you,” he replied as he slipped into his office, partially closing the door behind him. Thomas started sorting the documents, laying them out on the table trying to arrange them in some sort of order.

Everything was completely random, no attempt was made to try and organize and sort them properly. Of course, Thomas hadn’t expected much from Jack in that regard. However, he was glad to see that they were all individually dated and well looked after, it seemed that Jack had found himself quite the competent source.

~~~~~

Thomas kept reading through all the pages, trying to see if anything was at all relevant. He only stopped for a quick lunch break and barely realized that the sun had started going down until El interrupted him.

“Thomas I have to head out now, don’t stay here too late. Finish up and get your ass home,” she said, looking into the his office.

“Yes, El, have a good evening,” he said, without even looking up.

There wasn’t much that was particularly helpful, but then a letter caught his eye.

It did not seem like much at first, but somehow he felt drawn to it. Part of it was gone, and much of the ink faded but there was something he could make out.

_“You told me about the place, the plantation you wanted to send me to. A place that wealthy families used to send troublesome members and make them disappear. I believe there may be someone there that may solve our problems, and put an end to this war. I cannot say much, but there may be a man held there who is very important to Flint, someone he thinks dead, who may make him give up this war.”_

The letter was signed by someone named John.

This made Thomas wonder. Captain Flint was a rather interesting _character_ , not much was known about the actual man. It’s the stories that everyone knows; a ruthless, bloodthirsty pirate that nearly all others were afraid of. He came out of nowhere, plagued the New World for over a decade and then disappeared again without a trace. Many recent developments have shown more evidence that he was of average height as opposed to some giant as the stories told. Other account describe him as having red hair and more tactical skills than any other pirate at the time. Some new research pointed at the fact that he was trying to start a war for freedom rather than simply live a life as a pirate, but there was never any clear indication as to what Flint’s motivations were.

Thomas had found throughout his research various mentions of Flint that seemed to point further towards that theory. There seemed to have been some sort of arrangement with Eleanor Guthrie for building a future for Nassau. He knew well by now that history was written by the victors, and that was part of the reason Thomas always wanted to try and uncover these lost stories. But this, this letter he was now holding was something different.    

Thomas knew that perhaps he should be focusing on finishing his book, but something about this wouldn’t let him go, a curiosity. Thomas knew that if he didn’t at least look into it, this would keep bothering him.

Opening his laptop, he pulled up the files and the articles he had come across regarding Captain Flint. The captain had always been painted as this terrible villain, but Thomas kept himself from making such assumptions until he knew more. Even as he read about the acts of Captain Flint, he still could never find himself coming to that conclusion. There were two things that always bothered him. Only a year or so into his ‘reign of terror’ Captain Flint murdered a man who had been traveling under an assumed name. All evidence suggested that he had been hunting that ship for several months. The man in question, Alfred Hamilton, an earl, seemed to have been of no interest to a pirate. There must be something more to that story - maybe he did something to deserve it. The second, concerned the burning of Charlestown.

Most of the stories told of Flint ransoming a girl by the name of Abigail Ashe and somehow being captured and put on trial, only to later be rescued by Charles Vane. The timeline didn’t seem to add up, and there never seemed to be a plan to ransom her as much as simply return her to her father, the acting governor.

Thomas looked at the time, 2:00 AM, too late, to call Jack now, but perhaps in the morning he’d be able to track down more information on Charlestown.

~~~~~

_Thomas was in a large bedroom, buried under blankets. The sheets were incredibly smooth and a gentle light shone through the windows._

_“James, come back to bed. You can stay longer,” Thomas said softly, his hand reaching for the still warm empty space in the bed beside him._

_“I’m afraid, my lord, that I’m going to be late,” he said from across the room._

_Thomas lifted his head to see him walking around the room, picking up clothing off the floor, his long red hair falling across his broad shoulders._

_“Perhaps, if you helped me- ” James stood to face Thomas, looking at him with a crooked smile and soft blue-green eyes._

_“Oh, alright,” Thomas said as he stood from the bed, still rather reluctant to leave its warmth._

_Thomas picked up a shirt and handed it to him. He then found the navy blue hair ribbon on the dresser._

_“Let me start with this,” he began as he approached James and carefully started gathering his soft red hair. With one hand he brushed it to the side and kissed his neck._

_“Thomas-” James began, then let out a soft moan._

_James moved down to James shoulder, then finally let him go. He reluctantly proceeded to tie the ribbon. “There you go. I do suppose that I must let you go, James.”_

_“Yes,” James turned and cupped Thomas’ face in his hand and kissed him gently, “but I’ll be back right after the meeting.”_

_“I suppose that’s alright,” he replied._

_“Thomas-”_

 

“Thomas! Thomas, wake the fuck up!”  

He opened his eyes to see that he had fallen asleep at his desk, again.

“I’m sorry, El, I seem to have just-” he tried to explain, looking up at her.

“Lost track of time, yeah I can see that. You can’t keep doing this. For fuck’s sake, Thomas! I worry about you sometimes,” she scolded him.

“Once the book is done, I’ll try-”

“Well, it doesn’t look like you were researching for the book does it?” She gestured at notes on Captain Flint that now covered the desk.

“Oh, this, I, uh-” he really had no excuse.

“Right, here, I brought you coffee, I think you’re going to need it.” She said, handing him the mug. “What was that all about by the way? You were talking in your sleep, asking someone not to leave?”

“Oh yeah, I had one of the dreams again, about the man, James.”

“Ah, the mystery ginger, was your dream wife whose name you don’t even know in this one, too?” she said, mockingly.

“No, not in this one,” Thomas replied. He thought back to the woman with long brown hair who joined some of his dreams with James.

“Are you sure you don’t know either of these people?” El asked, helping him clean up the mess of papers on his desk.

“No, definitely not. If I knew someone who looked like that I’d remember,” he said before taking a sip from the mug, “and anyway, the clothing I’m in, the things they wear, he’s in a British Navy uniform, it’s always from the early 18th century.”

“Ah, forbidden love. Maybe that’s the book you should be writing. A married lord falls in love with a navy man.”

“Interesting thought, but you know I’ve never been good at writing fiction.”

“Well, suit yourself.” She went to leave, then paused in the doorway, “Oh, one more thing, I read your note, to call Jack about documents from Charlestown? I went ahead and called, he says he’s got something related to Abigail Ashe.”

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Andy" is the name that Anne Bonny historically went by as a child and pretended to be a boy.


	2. Chapter 2

_ He stood on edge of a small beach surrounded by rocks. It was a rather warm spring morning, but the sun was covered by clouds as it always was in this part of the country. There was a soft pink glow along the horizon. The water was fairly calm, but scattered clouds loomed in the background.  _

_ Thomas turned to face the man standing beside him. James hadn’t bothered to pull his hair back that day and it was free to blow in the soft breeze. He was quite the vision against the bleak landscape, the contrast of his red hair and his loose white shirt clinging to his frame. He was so beautiful, even if he was now badly trying to conceal a yawn. Neither of them had exactly slept well the night before but Thomas wanted to show him this place.  _

_ “James, there’s no one around for miles, come on, let's go for a swim,” Thomas said, reaching a had out to him.  _

_ “Well, except Miranda,” James said, with a smug grin. “Can’t imagine she’s particularly pleased with us after last night.” _

_ “And that is why we are letting her sleep in late this morning. Now come on, or are you scared of the cold water?” _

_ “Certainly not, my lord,” James said before taking his shirt of and folding it near the rocks. His boots soon followed.  _

_ When they both had gotten rid of their clothing, Thomas took his hand and they waded into the water together. When the water was at their waists Thomas was starting to realize that the water was far colder than he imagined.  _

_ “Oh, is there a problem, my lord?” James asked, rather smugly, noticing Thomas slight discomfort. _

_ “Well, it’s rather cold,” Thomas replied.  _

_ James smiled. “Well, you’re the one that dragged me out of our warm bed and into the ocean. Now come on.” _

_ He turned to face Thomas, turning his back to the sea, pulling Thomas further into the deep. Thomas took a step forward and closed the space between them, his hands traveled along James’ body. He was so warm. Thomas pulled him in closer until they both had their arms around each other. _

_ James hand brushed up against Thomas face, and found its way along the back to his neck to pull him into a kiss. In that moment Thomas forgot about the cold water.  _

_ He pulled back to take a look at James, his long hair was getting all wet, falling around his shoulders and sticking to his face. Thomas couldn’t help but reach forward and brush a strand out of James’ face, tucking it behind his ear. _

_ That moment, it started raining and they had quickly ran out of the water, grabbing their clothing, putting on what they could, and ran back to the house. Thomas managed to lose his shirt in the process and neither of them enjoyed the prospect of going back out to look for it.  _

_ They were both soaked by the time they reached the doorstep, more so than when they were in the sea, it seemed. They entered the house, both laughing about the dreadful timing of the rainstorm as.  _

_ “Well, well,” Miranda said, coming to welcome them with towels, undoubtedly having heard them approaching the house. “I had wondered where you two had gotten off to. It was oddly quiet this morning, I was almost concerned.” She smiled.  _

_ She took a moment to study them. Thomas wearing only a pair of breeches with his shoes, and James in only a shirt with nothing else on but his boots. “Now you two better dry off and stop dripping water all over my house.” _

Thomas woke suddenly to his alarm. He’d managed to wrap things up on his book over the last several days. It was almost done, he should be pleased, but somehow, Thomas felt like there was something important that he was missing. 

As he stood up to get ready he couldn’t quite shake the images of James from his head. This dream was even stronger than the last, they used to come and go, but now he was having them every night and in greater detail. He could remember everything, remember every feeling, the soft touches and lips against his skin. 

Thomas tried to brush it off, he hadn’t slept properly and in his own bed is a very long time. Must to El’s dismay he had basically been camped out in his office every other night now, falling asleep while reading. 

It was a waiting game now, as he waits for the next package to arrive. Jack told him last week he had something good for Thomas, but the bastard wouldn’t tell him exactly what it was.

~~~~~

The box from Jack finally arrived the following Monday. Thomas rushed to his office to open it. Unwrapping everything carefully, inside he found a rather badly burned book as well as a number of other documents. Taking a closer look at the book, he was happy to find that although its cover hadn’t fared well, the inside of the book remained intact. 

Once Thomas read the first entry, he immediately realized that this was a journal written by Abigail Ashe.

Thomas begins reading, “ _ I will never forget the stories Father told me of the dreadful Captain Flint, _ _ a man who killed without mercy or reason. He spoke of such horrors committed by pirates, yet here I find myself on a ship with them and I do not see the monsters he described. Instead, I see men who were failed by civilization _ .“ This lined up with all his research so far. Thomas flipped forward several passages.     

_ “I spend my time sitting with Miranda Hamilton, an old friend of Father’s. She was always kind to me, back in London she played with me and we hid in the library together during one of Mother’s parties. She always had so much to say about not letting others’ talk get to me. Here I find myself, in the setting of one of my father’s tales only to find none of the horrors he warned of.”  _

The name caught his attention, Miranda Hamilton. It was curious, Hamilton, as in Alfred Hamilton, that certainly couldn’t be a coincidence. He jotted a note to remember to look into it further. Thomas continued reading.

“ _ He introduced himself to me as James McGraw, and I thought that perhaps I had heard that name before. Now thinking back I remember seeing him as a child, in the Hamiltons’ residence. He was once a navy lieutenant, and now a pirate ship captain. He was nothing but kind to me and I wonder, how did these tales of Captain Flint ever start?  Could it be that the story was just some spin on a far more complicated truth that the world simply could not accept?” _

_ James McGraw _ , he felt a chill as he ran his fingers over the name again. Finding Captain Flint’s name was quite a revelation in itself, but there was something else about it that called out to him, as if he recognized it somehow. He knew it to be simply coincidence, and yet,  _ James _ , and a navy man. 

“Everything alright in here?” El said, coming into the office, “I haven’t heard from you in awhile, just wanted to check in to make sure you aren’t dead.”

“Yes, yes, fine. I uh, just found something interesting, come look at this,” he answered.

“A journal? But what does it mean?” She walked over to stand behind him, looking at the book. 

“This belonged to Abigail Ashe when she was aboard Captain Flint’s ship”

“Ah, still on that fucking Captain Flint obsession I see,” she said, then leaned over to point at one of the names. “Oh that’s interesting,  _ James _ .”

“Yes, I believe that was is Captain Flint’s real name, James McGraw.”

“ _ James _ ,” she said again, giving him a look.

“It’s a very common name, El. So is  _ Eleanor _ , for that matter and I didn’t bring that up.” 

“Alright, fine, but now this would make for an interesting romance novel. The pirate captain in love with an English lord.”

“Yes, well perhaps you should write it if you’re so fascinated by the topic,” Thomas said. “Speaking of lords, I wanted to get some information about an old family in London, The Hamiltons, particularly Alfred and Miranda.”

~~~~~

Thomas woke up suddenly from a dream of kissing James in a dining room. He shifted in the bed, trying to fall back asleep, but it was no use. His phone rang several minutes later, Thomas checked it to see he already had texts from El telling him she found something. 

He barely managed to get dressed before running out of his apartment, he only stopped briefly to brush a hand through his hair before he stepped into the building.

“What is it, what did you find?” he asked as soon as he spotted El. 

“Well good morning to you, too,” she said looking up from her computer.

“You sent me four texts this morning, El.”

“Yes, right, well, you’re going to love this. You should take a seat,” She stood up to face him and pulled out her notebook. Reluctantly, Thomas sat behind his desk. 

“So you had me research the Hamilton family,” she began.

“Yes...”

“Well, Alfred Hamilton was the Earl of Ashbourne, he was killed by Captain Flint in 1707. Miranda Hamilton was his daughter-in-law. Now this is intriguing, in 1705 the admiralty appointed a liaison to the Hamilton family by the name of James McGraw.”

“That’s-”

“Yes. Hold on, it gets even more interesting. James McGraw and Miranda Hamilton disappeared from London in early 1706. It was rumoured that they were having an affair. Miranda’s husband, Alfred’s eldest son, was committed to Bethlem hospital after learning of this affair-”

“What was his name?”

“This is fucking odd but the son’s name, was  _ Thomas _ Hamilton.” 

“I- I’m not sure what...” Thomas couldn’t say anything more.

“Have you never read about any of this before?” El asks him.

“No, this is the first time, I’ve heard about any of this” 

“Well, Thomas Hamilton and James McGraw were fighting to introduce a new plan for New Providence island when this all happened. James McGraw was discharged from service shortly before leaving London. Somehow, I think there’s more to that story.”

“Thomas Hamilton, what happened to him? Did he-”

“He died. In the hospital, several months before Alfred was murdered. You’re sure you didn’t know about any of this, not even just glanced over something while researching?” A concerned look crossed her face.“It’s just, those dreams you were talking about, it’s more than a coincidence- ”

“I know, El. I don’t know what to make of it.”

He sat in silence for a while, trying to process. Eventually she left him to return back to his research, trying to piece everything together. Everything she had found and further the scanned document she had sent him only further aligned with the events of his dreams. There seemed to be one thing that El may have been wrong about. Thomas Hamilton did not die there, he felt it. The story did not add up, Thomas knew, but he wasn’t quite sure  _ why _ yet. He pulled up the letter again.

There had to be something, some sort of proof, on paper, that this all wasn’t some sort of exhaustion-induced madness. Or perhaps Thomas was going mad, either way he had to know, he decided to call Jack again and see if there was something more he could find. 

~


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas felt completely out of place, loud music played in the background, the same news about the traffic and some sort of fight breaking out in New York playing on repeat on a small TV in the corner. This wasn’t at all how he’d usually spend a Friday night, sitting in a booth at the nearby pub with El and two of her friends, whose names he didn’t quite catch.

There was something in Georgia, Thomas now knew. Jack told him about accounts of a man by the name of Thomas arriving at a specific plantation around 1707. That combined with several records of someone by the name Hamilton arriving in Port Royal on a ship from London only days earlier. That was three months ago, before all the madness with the book release started, and Thomas didn’t have the opportunity to travel until after everything was finished.

Thomas’ latest book, _Buried Treasure: The Untold Story of Queer Pirates_ , was out in stores and online for a little over a week and was gather quite some attention already. He had one last interview before he could finally travel to Savannah. The issue was, he hadn’t told El yet.

“So, I hear you’re writing a book, Thomas, was it?” the man who introduced himself as Woods asked. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was a nickname or not.

“Rogers, I’ve told you about his book ten fucking times! It was just released last week, or don’t you listen to anything I say?” El accused him. Her tone softened as she turned to Thomas. “How are you doing? You’ve been oddly quiet, I invited you out to celebrate remember?”

“I’m just tired, I suppose,” he answered, plainly. She was right, he should be far more excited about everything. Yet this story, or whatever it was, of Thomas Hamilton and James McGraw would not let him rest, quite literally with all the dreams he’d been having. Dreams aside, there was no proof to support any of it, at least not so far. Thomas wasn’t one to give up easily, tracking down the story of Max the tavern owner is evidence to that, and yet what he was chasing down now was already a stretch.

The other two sitting with them left, giving Thomas the opportunity to speak to El. “I’m going to see Jack in Savannah on Tuesday,” he admitted, finally.  

“Wait, what? What about your book, you have interviews, and don’t you have to submit the syllabus for your class by the end of the month? And what about the PEN conference in New York in two weeks?”

“It’s already done, and I’ll be gone for two weeks at most, I’ll fly right out to New York after. I never use my vacation anyway, ” he reassured her. “I need to figure this out, El.”

“Yes, but you aren’t going on vacation! You’re just going there because Jack found some old book and what, two old pieces of paper with half a name on them?”

“Well, there’s more than that. El, I need to see this place, you know how this whole thing has been bothering me.”

“I suppose,” she responded. “Just don’t forget about your interview with Maxine on Monday!”

~~~~~     

_Thomas lay in bed, wearing nothing but his shirt. He read aloud from the book in front of him, and occasionally looking up at James who sat just out of arm’s reach at the foot of the small bed._

_“For with what art thou discontented? With the badness of men? Recall to thy mind this conclusion, that rational animals exist for one another, and that to endure is a part of justice, and that men do wrong involuntarily; and consider how many already, after mutual enmity, suspicion, hatred, and fighting, have been stretched dead, reduced to ashes; and be quiet at last.” Thomas read aloud. He was in James’ small apartment. Though he was sure James read through the entire book at least once, he couldn’t help but read some of it to him again._

_Thomas had to pause from reading, he looked up at James, his back was bare and Thomas still couldn’t help but be amazed by the constellations of freckles that covered his body._

_“What is is?” James said, looking back towards him._

_“Nothing, my love,” Thomas replied._

_James turned, spreading out on the small bed, his head coming to rest on Thomas’ chest._

_“Shall I continue?” Thomas asked, wrapping his free hand around James._

_“Yes, please do.”_

_Thomas’ eyes turned back to the book and he continued reading. “See how soon everything is forgotten, and look at the chaos of infinite time on each side of the present, and the emptiness of applause, and the changeableness and want of judgement in those who pretend to give praise, and the narrowness of the space within which it is circumscribed,” he read on, brushing through James hair.“...all these things, which thou seest, change immediately and will no longer be; and constantly bear in mind how many of these changes thou hast already witnessed. The universe is transformation: life is opinion.”_

Thomas woke up, recognizing the passage immediately, he’d read that book cover to cover on several occasions. Thomas had anyways been drawn to the book, ever since he read it in his third year of college. Now it was in his dreams too. It wasn’t the first time that books he enjoyed started to become part of these dreams, but he wondered, what was it that made him so drawn to them in the first place.

He checked his phone, realizing what day it was. Thomas had his interview this morning and then a plane ticket for Savannah booked for that evening.

~~~~~

“So tell me, Thomas, what inspired you to write this, or rather focus on pirates this time? From what I understand this isn’t your usual period of interest, your last book focused on several artists,” Maxine, the host, asked.

“Well, I suppose I was always kind of fascinated with them as a child, all the sword fights and the life at sea, without the rule of England. But I think it came down to my fascination with telling the untold stories. I think, with pirates especially, we all have certain ideas and misconceptions,” Thomas began. “Most people have this idea of big terrifying men who drink rum and just take what they like. While it was not at all like that, they had their own form of society, one that was far more accepting of people that didn’t fit in. For the most part it was a democracy, with equal shares for all crew members. Something that’s not brought up often, is that pirates had their own form of gay marriage.”

“Yes, many forgotten stories there. Now, I’ve read your books myself, but I’m sure some of the listeners haven’t. Can you tell us more about some pirates you discuss?”

“Well, not just about pirates, in fact there are two women that weren’t actually pirates themselves, but played a large role in their world. Eleanor Guthrie managed trade in and out of Nassau for around a decade, and started only at the age of seventeen.”

“Yes, the Queen of Thieves, as many are calling her now.” Maxine laughed.

“Yes, my friend Jack actually came up with that. He’s the one that got me interested in the story of Anne Bonny in the first place.” Thomas was pleased that the nickname was catching on.

“Now, the other woman, simply known as Max, what can you tell us about her?”

“Oh she is really interesting, but tracking down information on her was quite the challenge, I could never get a last name. She was the daughter of a slave owner who started out working in a brothel, later to find herself controlling everything that happened in Nassau from behind the scenes.”

“How exactly did you learn about her?”

“As I mentioned previously, I started researching Anne Bonny and her relationship with Mary Read and somehow managed to come across several love letters. They came from someone by the name of Max, and honestly at first I thought it was a man, but upon further investigation I found more and more about her. Other letters also suggest an earlier relationship between her and Eleanor Guthrie.”

“Such a fascinating story, and completely erased from history, we don’t even have a last name!”

Anyway, before we end this episode, may I ask about what you’re planning for your next project?” she asked him, finally.

“Well, I’m not quite done with pirates yet. I’ve been researching something new, and I won’t go into detail, but it certainly is a story that hasn’t been told before,” Thomas replied. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had said that, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to do with this new interest.

“Well,  thank you so much for sharing Thomas, it was a pleasure.”

“Oh it was an honour, thank you for having me.”

Once they went off air Thomas spent some more time talking with Maxine.

“I’m always happy to meet authors who are so dedicated to telling the stories of queer people, especially those who have been brushed under the rug by history. I’d be happy to have you back on here again sometime soon,” she began. “I really enjoyed this book, all your earlier ones too. I actually managed to get my wife to read this one, she won’t stop talking about it, and I can never get her to read anything! She’s quite inspired by Anne Bonny’s story,” she added.

“Thank you, again. I’m glad you two enjoyed it, can I sign a copy for you two? It’s the least I can do,” he offered.

“Yes, that would be great, here I have ours,” she handed Thomas her copy of the hardcover edition.

“Who should I make the inscription out to?”

“Max and Anne,” she answered.

Maxine smiled. Thomas paused looking over at her.

“Our nicknames for each other,” she added.      

Once the interview ended, Thomas returned to his office to get some things before going home to pack for Savannah.

“Oh Thomas, before you go, a man called, said his name was Marsh. He saw the interview earlier, he wanted to speak to you,” El asked, catching him on his way out. 

“Already? What did he want?” Thomas asked, surprised.

“He didn’t say exactly, he just mentioned your book and said he wanted to speak to you, he said he was in New York,” she said, trying to hand him the note.

“Can it wait? I shouldn’t be longer than two weeks. Tell him I’ll be away and give him my email if he has questions.”

“Fine,” she sighed.

“Oh and El? You’ve got my spare key, could you water my plants?” he asked before she could leave.

“Thomas, I think your fucking plants died a long time ago, but alright.”

“Thank you!”

“Good luck on your wild goose chase, or whatever this is.”

~~~~~

On the plane Thomas started having nightmares. First there was pain and then there was this endless heat. He was digging at the ground for what felt like years. He didn’t even remember the details, just the misery. The woman sitting next to woke him up, apparently he’d been yelling in his sleep.

He was beginning to think he was losing his mind, remembering and piecing together this life of Thomas Hamilton. Yet every new piece he found only seemed to support the one theory he could not get out of his mind.

Thomas never believed in past lives or anything like that, but that was starting to seem like the explanation. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he was looking for anymore, closure, perhaps. Something to trigger more dreams, or more information about James and whatever happened to him. Thomas was only hours away from the place where he would likely find the answers he was looking for.       

He fell back asleep later, but this time the dream was different.

_He was standing in a cane field, but it was clearer now. He was wearing all white, a shovel in his hand. There were other man around him, working the land. Suddenly he turned around, looking to see a man heading towards him. Thomas could not make out his features yet, but he was wearing all black. Thomas thought that perhaps she could be afraid but he noticed the apprehension in the other man’s step. Thomas looked closer, squinting in the sunlight. The man’s head was shaves, and on his face, a beard. The colour, however, seemed familiar. When Thomas caught a glimpse of the man’s face, his heart froze. He couldn’t be sure if this was real, but no ghost that haunted him in his dreams ever took this form. Thomas dropped his shovel. His eyes met the other man’s, the shade of green he had almost forgot._

Thomas woke abruptly to the flight attendant announcing their descent. Thomas looked out the window to see the ocean.  

~~~~~

Thomas settled into his hotel room. He would be meeting Jack the next morning at which point he would take Thomas to see the plantation. It had been turned into a sort of museum since, and Thomas expected he would already be very familiar with the place.

Yet his mind still continued to focus on James as his mind drifted off to sleep.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The passage Thomas is reading is from Book 4 of Meditations


	4. Chapter 4

“So, you were rather cryptic about why you wanted to see this place, what exactly are you looking for, chasing another story?” Jack inquired.

“Yes, actually,” Thomas responded. There was no hiding from Jack’s curiosity about all this, he was never one to let things go easily. Especially now with all the phone calls and odd requests Thomas had been giving him over the last couple of months.

“Ah. Mind enlightening me?” he tried again.

“Well, I’ve found some information that might shed some light on the story of Captain Flint,” he answered vaguely

“Oh, Captain Flint, I know I guy who’s obsessed him, a rather odd fellow.” Jack noted. Thomas had encountered Flint fans himself, though he wondered what they would think if they knew about the things that Thomas did.

“Well, I think my take is rather different, not so much about the pirate, or the legend, but the man himself who existed before and after Captain Flint.” Thomas ventured on. 

“Ah, have you found anything? Is that who this Thomas Hamilton is?” 

“No.”

“Then how does he come into the story?”

“Well, to say the least, he was Captain Flint’s lover.” Thomas wasn’t exactly going to lie about the story he was looking into, but he wasn’t exactly going to tell Jack that he thinks that _might have actually been_ Thomas Hamilton in a past life.

“Well, that is certainly a different take. Are you going to tell me more?”

 “No, not until I piece more of the story together.” He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of proof at the moment, aside from his memories.

“Alright, guess I’ll have to wait. Here it is, on the right, the plantation.” 

As they drove up to the plantation, Thomas felt a chill, he recognized the place immediately. Having parked as close as they could get before the road ended, they walked down the path leading to the main building and were greeted by an older man.

Jack started talking with him while Thomas lingered behind him taking in the place. He looked around, since the place had become a sort of museum there was far more colour, flowers and trees of all sorts. He thought about the green of the cane and the grey of the dirt, day in and day out for almost a decade.

Looking back toward the entrance, Thomas envisioned where the tall, gated fence was. It was all gone now, not a trace remained. Funny, as those gates were exactly what kept Thomas Hamilton and so many other men from walking out of this place. He found himself feeling angry about the whole concept  of this place and the fact that there were likely others like it. Turning away he walked back down the path to rejoin Jack. 

“This place, for a while was in fact used by many English families to send people that they wanted disappeared, for a time, that was,” the older man continued.

“Do you have logs, accounts of all the men that were held here from around 1706?” Thomas asked him, interrupting. 

“Well, they didn’t keep good records and understandably the identity of the men was to be kept secret.”

 “Yes, well I’m looking for any mention of a Thomas Hamilton, if that’s possible.”

“Well, we only have the one log from 1707 where someone named Thomas is mentioned arriving, Jack asked about it already.” The man didn’t seem particularly pleased with Thomas. 

“And there isn’t anything else, records of him leaving?” Thomas insisted.

“I’m afraid that if there were, they must have been lost in the fire.”

“What fire?” Thomas didn’t remember reading about this particular detail. He was aware that something about the plantation had changed by 1720, it was no longer a prison, but the records were never clear. There was never a mention of what had happened to the prisoners.        

“There was a fire here in 1716, in fact this is the only building that survived, and most of it needed to be rebuilt,” the man told him. Thomas started putting it all together. 

“Oh is that so?” Thomas started with a smile. 

“Yes, at the time nearly all the prisoners had escaped. They arranged an attack, burning most of the place and stole most of the owner's possessions, valuables, money -  even his books,” the man informed them. Thomas couldn’t help but start laughing. 

“I’m sorry, but did you say books?” Jack asked, surprised.

“Yes, the then owner had a bit of a library, and much of it was stolen along with several logbooks, there’s clear record of that.” The man gave a stern look towards Thomas. “I’m sorry but why is this so amusing to you, the owner lost nearly everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas tried, it wasn’t sincere. 

“Okay, I think it’s time we go. Thank you,” Jack told the man before leading Thomas back to the car. “Should I even ask?” 

“No,” Thomas said, with a smile. 

When he returns to the hotel that night, Thomas dreams of the fire. He dreams of dropping the match and watching it ignite the flame that soon enveloped the whole row of buildings.    

~~~~~

 

 _It seemed like a good idea. There was no one around for many miles and Thomas wanted to explore their new home in the dark, to see the beach in moonlight and bask in his new freedom under the stars. James certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea._  

_They took two lanterns out with them, in an attempt to light their way down to the sand. The air was warm, crickets were chirping all around them. Thomas had long since grown familiar with their sound after years at the plantation, but they sounded different, as if they felt free here too._

_He followed James down the path to the water. James set his lantern down on the sand and began taking his boots off._

_“Care for a swim?” he asked._

_Thomas had not had the opportunity to take a swim in eleven years, in fact the last time was with James and he had been the one doing the convincing._

_“Sounds like a splendid idea.” Thomas followed him in removing his shoes. He reached out to take James’ hand and they walked down the beach, looking up at the sky._

_They walked for a little while, Thomas admiring the light reflecting in James eyes and the way his hair was starting to grow out._

_They waded out until the water was up to their knees, he could tell James was rather hesitant about this now, a sudden tearful look in his eye as he turned to face Thomas. They were facing each other now, this was so different from the last time, standing alone in the dark with a clear sky above, not the slightest indication of rain. The water warm against his legs and only a slight breeze. James’ hair was gone and he was dressed in black. They were both silent, no witty remarks from James. Thomas grew more aware of the fact that there would be no one to welcome them, to hand them towels and scold them for running off._

_He stepped forward to reach his arms around James. They stayed like that for a moment before returning to the sand to sit together, deciding that perhaps they’d put aside the swim for another day._

_They sat there, leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, both undoubtedly thinking about all the time they’d missed. It was peaceful in a way, the silence and solitude, far away from the rest of civilization._  

~~~~~

 Thomas looked at the poor state of the hotel room he’d been staying in the last couple of days. He had copies of documents all over the small desk, maps splayed on the floor, various notes scattered everywhere.

He’d barely left the room except to get food and visit the nearby museums and libraries to see what else he could find. Despite trying to adjust to the local time, he was still sleeping at odd hours. Thomas had almost completely blocked out all attempts at communication with his normal life, only responding to several messages from El checking up on him. He wasn’t at all successful with his further research attempts, and would always go to sleep to only have more dreams of James and Miranda.  

In a desperate attempt he’s decided to call Jack again. 

“There has to be more of what you sent me, where did all of it come from in the first place?” Thomas insisted.   

“I don’t think there’s anything else I can get you,” Jack sighed, rather unpleased about Thomas’ call so early in the morning. “Most of what I sent you was in archives and before that found in an old house when the original owners sold it around five years ago.”

“Can I see the house, is there any way I can see anything else, can you contact the owner?” he pushed further, suddenly curious about this house.

“Everything else found in it are in a private collection now, it’s just a bunch of books and some junk from what I hear, I doubt any of it will help you.” 

Perhaps among those books was exactly what Thomas was looking for. “Is there any way I can see them, and what about the house?” 

“Oh, I doubt he’ll let you see it, he almost never lets anyone go near that place. Besides, it’s old, empty and out in the middle of nowhere, don’t think anyone lives there now.” Jack responded, plainly. He paused, then with a sigh began again. “Perhaps I can get in touch with his assistant, I’ll see what I can do about seeing those books, but I doubt anything will come of it.” 

“Alright, thanks Jack,” Thomas replied. He wasn’t about to press on about the house, but it made him curious. Could it be the same house as the one in his dreams? He remembered the place clearly, if only Thomas could find out how to get there, and try to keep his plan to do so from Jack. 

~


	5. Chapter 5

Google Maps was quite the blessing. Thomas sat in his hotel room, browsing the satellite view of the general area. He searched further south along the coast, away from Savannah and the plantation, on a half island that seemed to be quite well inhabited now. It didn’t take long before he spotted it, just barely showing between the trees. It was still on a large property of land as he remembers, several much larger houses and a golf course had been built around the area.

He has a chuckle when he sees the street address. It was near the intersection of _Hamilton Road_ and _James Avenue_ , now that certainly couldn’t be a coincidence.

~~~~~

It was still mid-morning when he took a cab out towards the house, Thomas felt different, somehow more hopeful. Shadows danced along the road as the light filtered through the tall trees and long Spanish moss that grew off them. Everything felt somehow soft, and the air fresh. Thomas took it all in as he looked out window of the cab. Thomas got out near the local gathering of shops and decided he would walk the rest of the way.

He found the street he was looking for, the road had been long since paved over and the trees on either side were tall. Thomas remembered walking down it for the first time, when those trees were only several feet high and there was no cover from the sun.

When he found the way to the house he was met by a gate, a fence seemed to obscure most of the property, a rather recent development, it seemed. Thomas was happy to see that it had been so well maintained, but it posed a bit of a problem. He walked around the property looking for a place where the fence wasn’t as high, found the fence gave way to an old stone wall on one side, and climbed Thomas climbed. It wasn’t the first illegal thing Thomas had done, certainly not just in this lifetime, and he needed to see the house.  

When Thomas reached the house he noticed that several repairs had been done and the outside recently painted in the white tone that Thomas remembers so well. He found that the latch on the back door hadn’t been properly fixed, and found his way into the house.

Walking into a narrow hallway was a strange experience for Thomas. The house was completely empty now, what furniture remained was covered with sheets. Soft light filled the place through the uncovered windows and everything seemed muted. It was almost as if he was in two places at once, walking through the house as it was now and remembering what it was like to do the same, three hundred years ago.

Slowly Thomas walked around the place, the floor creaking. Everything was familiar, the same shape of the house, despite the new painted walls, and the refinished floor. A whole other section of the house was built on, as well as many modern features, but somehow it still had the same feelings, the same comfort.

Memories start coming back to him, and that’s what they felt like now, as opposed to dreams. Sitting at a table in one of the rooms across from James. Curling up together on the floor in front of the fire, kisses in the doorways.

Carefully Thomas crept up the stairs to the bedroom, it was completely empty now but Thomas recalled the white curtains and how they let light in on summer mornings, and how that used to make James’ hair glow. Memories of slow mornings together and of reading way too late into the night, of Thomas not wanting to wake James in the morning, letting him sleep in peace after all his years of fighting.

He sat on the floor there for a moment and felt himself start to weep, for the life Thomas once had, the one that James had, all the things they had lived through. He still didn’t know how the story had continued and what had happened to his James.

Thomas wonders, could there be a chance, could it be possible that he might be reunited with him again after three hundred years? Would he look the same, would he remember too? What kind of life would James lead now? This was all, of course, if James had been given a new life too.   

~~~~~

Thomas didn’t know how long he spent sitting there, it easily could have been hours. He climbed off the floor and decided it was best he leave the place.

Leaving the house, Thomas stopped to look back. He took a deep breath, calming himself. At least, Thomas thought, he wasn’t going crazy, it was all real. Although, that might just be even worse.

Taking one last round around the property, Thomas recalled where the garden had been. Some flowers were planted there now, but no other signs remained. He sighed and climbed back over the fence, and began his walk back into the city.

The sun was starting to set, and Thomas realized that amidst his excitement about the house, he hadn’t charged his phone. He found his way to the small town about a mile away.

Thomas walked into a gas station hoping to be able to call and find his way back to his hotel in Savannah. He started talking with the cashier when a large man with long hair approached him. He was still several inches shorter than Thomas, but his build and the way he walked made him quite intimidating.

“I can give you a ride back into town,” he started.

“Really?” Thomas asked, scanning the other man’s face.

“Yeah. It’s Charles, by the way,” he introduced himself

“Thank you, I’m - ” he began.

“Thomas, Jack’s friend, I’ve seen photos, he mentioned you were in town.” He said with a smile, and Thomas understood who this was.

“Oh, so you must be Charles Vance the famous treasure hunter.”

“Hardly. I’m mostly doing research these days.”

Thomas thanked the clerk and followed Charles to his truck.

“So, what brought you here?” he asked Thomas as they drove away.

“Well, it’s a long story, and I imagine Jack has told you quite a bit. I guess you can say I’m chasing the Captain Flint story.”

“So, that’s true. You know there was another guy here, about five or six years ago who was interested in Flint.”

“Really? He was interested in Flint and looking for something around these parts, did he find something?”

“I don’t know, he was an asshole, fancy accent, wild look in his eye, always avoiding questions, he never told me anything. We even got in a fight, he hit me pretty good.” Charles answered, clearly not a fan of this man. He continued, changing his tone this time. “Then again, he did give me a tip to one of my most interesting finds. Wish I could put you in touch with him, but honestly I have no idea what became of the guy. Though it’s probably for the best, not a guy you’d want to deal with.”

Another dead end, well perhaps Jack would have something for him. Thomas watched the sky over the ocean, the pink reflecting off the waves and remembered the first time he had seen it with James. As they drove across the bridge, Thomas got one last look at it before everything turned into thick forest. As he lost sight of it, somehow Thomas felt like he was leaving some part of himself behind.

~~~~~

Thomas met again with Jack that morning. He had only been in Georgia for a few days, yet it almost felt like a lifetime.

He wandered into the cafe, trying to find Jack.

“Fuck you, Thomas! You broke into the house, didn’t you?” Jack accused, once he saw him.

“I, well-” Thomas began, but he didn’t exactly have an explanation, at least one that Jack would accept or even begin to understand.

“Oh, don’t try. Charles told me he picked you up on the island, how the fuck did you even know where it was?” Jack asked. “Oh well it doesn’t matter now. Shit, Thomas, do you even know who you’re dealing with? If he find out he’ll have my head for this, and then he’ll come after you!”

“Who?”

“The owner, James fucking McQueen, that’s who!”

“Well, I didn’t move anything,” Thomas admitted, although it wouldn’t help.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t find out. You’ve really gotten reckless since college. Please tell me you aren’t going turn into one of those _Treasure Island_ nuts.”

“Jack, that book is full of inaccuracies, written for children and based off stories told by sailors. Hardly anything to go on, besides there’s no clear documentation on where that treasure could have possibly been buried, or whether that ever really happened.”

“Right, right, you told me all this before. What’s so interesting about this house anyway?”

“Well, I think,” _I know for reasons you couldn’t possibly understand,_ Thomas paused. “It might have been Captain Flint’s house, after he left piracy behind.”

“Are you kidding, really?” Jack paused processing the information. He stood up to leave, before turning back towards Thomas. “It’s interesting,” he continued. “James McQueen is known for having the biggest private collection of Captain Flint-related artifacts and here you are, chasing after Flint’s story in his house. Maybe there’s a whole conspiracy I don’t know about going on here.”

~~~~~

Thomas spent three more days in Savannah, taking several tours, and trying to enjoy the sights, but at the end of it he felt anxious, he didn’t know what to expect when he flew here, but it felt like there was something he was missing. Certainly, this couldn’t be all the information he could possibly find.

Thomas decided to dive into one of his favourite activities when he was stressed, research. Ever since Jack dropped the name of the collector he can’t help but be curious about him.

From Thomas’ initial understanding the man wasn’t exactly pleasant to deal with, given the way Jack talked about him, like the kind of people Thomas had always disliked in school. Ones given money and every opportunity for change and to work on their own projects, and able to get away with nearly anything because of their money, while Thomas had spent most of his free time in college working to pay rent.

James McQueen was a very difficult man to find personal information on, though the man seemed to be rather infamous for getting into brawls and fights of all sorts. Most of the articles date back several years but there are a few more recent ones scattered here and there.

To verify Jack’s statements, Thomas had read that McQueen was rumoured to have the greatest collection of Captain Flint artifacts in the world, as well as a large collection of rare books, including many first editions. Some of which, Thomas knew, had come from a particular house. A house that Thomas had once known very well. He wondered perhaps if this man knew the story Thomas was realizing, it was interesting that if he did, why did he not share with the world the discoveries that he had made.

Thomas also read that he made significant contributions of historical artifacts to various universities but was never one for public appearances, though these facts were usually mentioned at the end and buried between the other accounts.

A particular article catches Thomas’ eye, one from last year. The headline read: “ _Savannah’s redheaded inferno strikes again”_. Thomas began skimming over it.

“ _It certainly isn’t news that earlier this week two men were sent to hospital after an unfortunate encounter with the redheaded inferno himself, James McQueen. Witnesses say that McQueen walked away with no more than a bloodied nose and bruised fists_.”

That sounded an awful lot like another James Thomas knew, uncanny, almost. He drew a breath and continued reading.

“ _Living in New York these days, McQueen continues to make contributions to charities and education funds, but the long history of fights followed him into the big city, with reports of the madman beating up another art collector several months ago over some sort of personal comment. Many theories have arisen about McQueen’s methods, his otherwise reclusive lifestyle, and how exactly he managed to acquire such rare items._

 _The big question now is, what the notorious art collector is doing back in Savannah after nearly a two year long absence? Given the major art exhibitions going on, the answer may be rather obvious. The popular story, however, is that he’s looking for some treasure buried by Captain Flint. After all, there seems to be no stopping the hot-headed collector when he’s onto something, he has the temper and conviction fitting of a pirate captain himself._ ”

Thomas swore under his breath. He’d never read a better description of James in his life. Thomas scrolled down to see if there was an image or something. He clicked a link to the article about the original incident.

The photo wasn’t clear, and was more focused on a man being patched up by paramedics, but in the corner, Thomas caught a glimpse of someone. Red hair and a bloodied shirt, his face was blurred, but the way he stood and that build, _James_ . That was _his_ redheaded inferno. Everything pointed to James.

Thomas tried to find the most recent article. There was one from several weeks earlier about James McQueen’s appearance at an art gallery opening in New York.

“ _Reclusive art collector and fire starter, James McQueen arrived at the opening in a rather unusual but smoking hot look. Although typically a black tie event, McQueen walked in sporting bruised knuckles with a matching split lip, wearing a dark suit and white shirt with the top several buttons undone without a tie in sight. McQueen spent the majority of the event with his signature brooding expression and seemed to have slipped out early_.”

Thomas thought briefly on the kind of life James would lead now, but now he couldn’t imagine anything else. He scrolled down further to see the photos.

Thomas paused and gasped as he saw the first one. There he was, James, though the description the article gave was accurate, it did no justice to the sight Thomas saw. His beautiful red hair loose, falling in his face, with one hand he brushed it back behind his ear, where it curled around a gold stud. His knuckles were indeed bruised, and one was even cut, the injuries looked only a day or so old. Thomas attention was drawn to the rings on James’ fingers, they were familiar, he was sure of that.

He scrolled further to see more photos. James posing awkwardly with some people, there were a few of him looking at art pieces, talking and gesturing with his hands as Thomas always remembered him doing.  

Thomas needed to get in contact with him, all signs pointed to James remembering, but there was still the chance that he didn’t. It was a terrifying thought but Thomas had to know either way. He left a message for El asking her to look into the details of contacting him and see if there was any more information she could find.

~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're familiar with the plot, then this is the part you've probably been waiting for... 
> 
> Also heads up, I'm posting chapters six and seven now, but I'm leaving for a three-week long trip and there won't be any updates until I get back. The next chapter and a half are mostly done at this point and the rest will probably be posted pretty quick one I get back!

It was reckless, Thomas knew, but he needed to see the house again. To get another glimpse, another memory of the happiness he once had there, and of his James. Thomas had never been this  _ drawn  _ to a place before in his life before. Thomas had to leave for New York in two days and was planning to meet with Jack again, but was unable to focus on anything else. 

Thomas checks his messages to see that El sent him some information on James McQueen. 

El sent him an email with the subject line “ _ JAMES _ ???? ;)”. 

She linked him an article, Thomas now recalled the story in the article quite well, it was all over the news when he was just starting his position. It was seven or eight years ago now, Thomas remembered the names rather clearly now. “ _ Edward Marsh dies, leaving fortune to estranged son _ ,” the headline read. Yes, James Marsh, the estranged son, the then twenty-seven year old who left the family right out of school to serve in the Royal Navy, set to inherit the whole family fortune.  

Thomas skimmed the article for a photo, and there it was, plain as day.  _ James _ . He was much younger then, his hair short. Thomas could recognize those features anywhere. 

It appeared to Thomas that “James McQueen” was a recent development that started around five or six years ago. There was no clear explanation of why James left the Navy, except that it was abrupt. Thomas was no stranger to covered up truths. 

~~~~~

Thomas knew where the house was now, but finding his way out to the island in the middle of the week proved to be more difficult than he imagined. He should have just taken a cab, instead he decided to take public transit and found himself utterly lost. It was early evening by the time he walked down a street he recognized.

Thomas made his way over the fence and towards the house as he had previously, entering with no issues.

Once in the living room, a chill ran down his spine. Thomas froze, not sure if he saw them before, Jack had told him the place way empty, and yet, something about the place felt different that day. It seemed more real - there was something Thomas couldn’t quite place.

Thomas moved towards the door, thinking that perhaps he shouldn’t have come here a second time. The floor creaked, he looked around, despite the dark he could make out that some of the furniture was now uncovered. It was far too late when Thomas realized that he was not alone in this place. 

“Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my house?” he heard the man yell.

Thomas knew that voice, but before Thomas could realize what was happening, he felt a sharp pain in his arm and back as he was thrown against the floor. He found himself pinned down, the weight of another man on top of him, hands around his throat, strangling him. 

Thomas opened his eyes to see the man, the fury in his eyes, a mess of red hair, and how quickly his expression changed from violent rage, his eyes went wide, horrified, as he looked down on Thomas.

“Thomas,” he said as he let him go. His hand flew up as he scrambled to get up and away from Thomas. “Thomas,” James gasped again, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-”  

“James-” Thomas began, his voice hoarse. He tried to sit up, reaching his hands to his throat and couldn’t help but cough. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” James continued.

“James, stop.” He stood and reached for the light switch on the wall behind him. 

“You remember?” James asked, his voice faltering, realizing Thomas was saying his name.

It was then that Thomas caught a glimpse of James’s face, the expression made his heart drop, the regret and the tears that were building in the corners of his eyes. Seeing James like this was far more painful that any injury he might have just experienced. He took a deep breath stepped towards James. 

“Yes, James, I remember London, I remember the bloody plantation and I remember this house where we were finally happy together.” Thomas tried to take another step towards him. “James, please.”

“No, stop.” he backed away. “I hurt you. I’m a monster now, just like I was then.”

“No, you are no more a monster now than you were then. I broke into your house, I got what I deserved. You couldn’t have known it was me, you had to defend yourself.” Thomas continued to approach him, James stood still. “I remember you, I remember how you loved me, do you no longer feel the same?” he reached out a hand towards James. “If that’s the case, then please tell me.”

“Thomas - No, I remember everything, I-” 

Thomas stepped closer reaching his arms around James, who was hesitant at first, but Thomas felt him wrap his hands around Thomas waist. Thomas held James gently as he began to sob against Thomas’ shoulder.   

Thomas closed his eyes and breathed a sigh or relief, starting to process what had just happened and the fact that James was  _ here _ , in his arms. He wouldn’t have thought their next reunion would go quite like it did, but Thomas did think much on that now, because it didn’t matter. “I never thought I’d find you, I could only dream,” he whispered. Thomas could have thought this was a dream, he’d dreamed of it before, but the nature of this particular reunion seemed to suggest otherwise. Perhaps it seemed inevitable now, that they would find each other again, even after three-hundred years, and in an entirely different life.

“I’m sorry, Thomas, I’m sorry- ” James continued. 

“Shhh, it’s alright, it’s going to be alright.” He held onto James a little tighter. “I forgave you for everything you did long ago, countless time. What makes you think I won’t again? Now that I’ve found you again and I won’t let anything, especially something like this get between us.”   

~~~~~

The sun had long set and once James calmed down a bit, he and Thomas went down to the kitchen to talk. James gave him a pack of frozen peas for his neck, apparently one of the few things he had in the freezer. Although Thomas wasn’t about to admit it in front of James, his whole body was starting to hurt. He’d had enough of the frightened look in James’ eyes when he occasionally glanced back towards’ Thomas neck, where bruises were certainly starting to form. Thomas had always bruised far too easily, and it was definitely not helping right now.

James remembered everything, his life whole life, their life together. Every detail, it seemed. Thomas on the other hand, was only now starting to accept what was going on. Thomas could sense the tension in the room and James pulling away from him once he admitted it.

“It’s late, you must be tired. You should stay the night here, unless you’d prefer me to drive you into town?” James asked, after a moment of silence. 

“I’d prefer to stay, if that’s alright.” Thomas could easily stay up all night talking to James, but he didn’t want to push him.

James walked him up to the bedroom - but it wasn’t the same room that they shared all those years before. The fact that he had to do that, the possible reasons, made Thomas’ heart ache. 

“Here, take the bed. I’ll give you a spare shirt,” James offered, pulling a shirt out of a shoulder bag on the dresser.

“Thank you, but what about you?”

“There’s a couch downstairs, I’m fine. Goodnight, Thomas.”

With that, James left. Thomas just wanted to hold him again, to reassure him that it was alright, and to kiss him, but he stopped himself. It seemed like James had been through so much more in this life and perhaps it was best if he let James adjust to this - whatever this was - first. Thomas knew it might take time, and even at that, dealing with James after all the things he’s been through was never easy. 

Thomas was far more exhausted than he thought, after the day of chasing buses and walking across the island, along with the shock of finding James. Thomas climbed into the bed, it smelled like James, like home. 

~


	7. Chapter 7

[ONE WEEK EARLIER]

James felt rather comfortable living in Hell’s Kitchen. Most people didn’t recognize him, that was until until he got into a fight. That was one of the things he enjoyed about New York, the sense of anonymity, no one paid attention to him unless he wanted them to, especially here. He really needed it after his last major public appearance several weeks earlier.

Fleet week always brought back memories for James, but if he was being honest with himself we was looking for a fight, perhaps one that might actually be a challenge, and there was never a shortage of sailors to get angry with him.

He wandered down to _The Two Tusks_ bar at half past ten that evening.

“Good evening, Hal,” he greeted the owner.

“Oh no, James, you better not be looking for a fight in here tonight.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

“Just, take it outside please. You broke several glasses last time, and although you may be able to pay for the damage, it takes me a week to get the replacements.”

James just nodded, taking the drink Hal already poured him.

James met Hal several years earlier when he’d moved here and it took him by surprise. Hal didn’t even recognize him but somehow still put up with him in a way no one else did, just as he had before. James wondered about why exactly he’d crossed paths with him, perhaps another reminder of all his terrible deeds. Hal was that in the worst way, still somehow sticking up for him, unknowing of how his past life ended.

James sat staring into space, occasionally glancing up at the TV which showed a game he wasn’t about to even attempt to pay attention to. The place was packed that night. A woman came over and tried to make an attempt to speak to him, but James brushed her off. He tried not to be rude, but he really wasn’t in the mood for any sort of social interaction.

A group of Navy men approached to take a seat near him. They were playing around, one stole another’s hat and was trying to get away. One of them moved back abruptly, not watching where he was going, bumped into James, spilling his drink a little.

They all stopped to look at James. “Oh sorry, sir,” one of the guys in the back tried to apologize.

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” James said coldly to the man that had bumped into him. He was at least several inches taller and build at least and broadly as James. He considered for a moment that it might not be wise to start a fight with this man, then James noticed the stripes he was wearing.

“It was an accident, dude, what’s your problem?” he replied.

“Oh, right, you’re a Naval officer, my apologies. I should have expected it, you were probably too blinded by your own hypocrisy to see where you were going.”

“Ed, it’s not worth it, stop,” one of the guys at the back tried to say, but it was too late, James locked eyes with the larger man.

“Well who the fuck are you to disrespect the Navy.” He took a swing at James, and James leaned out of the way, just narrowly avoiding taking the hit square in his jaw.

Several drinks affected the other man’s speed and James took the chance to throw a punch of his own, sending the other man falling backwards. Perhaps that was enough, but James was never good at holding back when he started fighting. He landed several more blows and took a hit to his side before he heard Hal yelling and felt hands on his shoulders dragging him away.

Hal led him to the kitchen and handed him some ice for his hands, casting him a disapproving look at every opportunity he got. “Christ, James, you said you wouldn’t fight anyone this time!”

“I said that I would try,” James responded, perhaps more smugly than he should have.

“Look, James, I understand your frustration with the Navy, but for fuck’s sake you didn’t need to throw insults at the first man that you see.” Hal sighed. “When you’ve pulled yourself together, take the back entrance and go home, there will be more of them out there who might want to pick a fight with you now.”

“Hal -” James tried to protest.

“Yes, I know you could handle it, but that doesn’t mean you should. You’ve caused enough trouble here tonight and I don’t want the police here.”

“Alright. Thanks for the ice.” Well, at least James knew he had vodka at home.

~~~~~

James woke up still in his jeans, his head pounding and his hands aching. There was a bruise on his side,  it hurt more than he expected when he rolled over to get out of bed.

He made no attempt to make himself at all presentable. His hair uncombed and out of its usual knot. He couldn’t seem to find the shirt he was wearing the night before anywhere. He’d only put on an old flannel shirt because it was rather cold in the apartment with the air conditioning - which he’d forgotten to turn down.

James lay on the rug in the middle of the living room. This was an odd ritual of his, it made him feel like some moody teenager. It probably wasn’t good, but sometimes it seemed appealing, when he didn’t feel like sitting at his desk. His focus drifted between the ceiling and the walls of replica paintings. There were three more in the works, but his hands weren't exactly in a good state for that right now, or perhaps that was just an excuse, as James has done far more difficult tasks with far worse injuries.

How many art collectors spend their weekends laying around on the floor after getting in a bar fight and downing a good portion of a bottle of vodka the night before? Maybe some artists did, but probably no self respecting art collector, not that he respected himself anymore. It’s pathetic really, he thought, he could have done so much more with his life, with this life. He wasn’t even an art collector really, everything he bought he ended up donating or sending off to some collection, the only art in his immediate possession was his own work. Hardly how people would expect James McQueen to be spending his time. That name had really built a reputation for itself in the last five years, people barely questioned the story anymore, never considering that is was a broken shell of a man behind that name.

Before McQueen, he was James Marsh, not much different really, growing up in England, going from one fancy private school to the next. His father would be laughing at him now, if he was still alive. Who wouldn’t laugh at a man who’d run away from the family at eighteen to join the Navy and try to make a change in the world, only to return a decade later in shame, with far too many nightmares and what seemed to be memories of a past life - a past life of being Captain fucking Flint, no less. Perhaps it was best he has no one around then, otherwise they’d think he was mad. 

He could only distract himself now, try to help others make change while hiding out and trying to piece together his life. Perhaps, if James made different choices in the Navy - No. He tried not to think about it. Everything seemed clearer in hindsight, but it was too much, and how could he have seen the betrayal coming sooner? Of course, perhaps he should have known better, getting involved with another officer and caring too much when the other man was willing to do anything for a promotion. James tried to push the memories to the back of his mind again.

James felt a tear escape his left eye and run down his cheek. He shut his eyes, trying to gather himself again. He sat up with a groan, his shoulder aching from the hard floor, he must have spent at least an hour laying there. His head was spinning as he sat up, his eyes met the largest painting on the wall.

 _Victory_ , he’d decided to call it, perhaps after his victory of completing the piece more than anything. The scene showing a Spanish warship firing on a British fleet. James had, of course, taken the liberty of adding a black banner to the mast of the warship. That _fucking_ warship had been so difficult to paint with all of its intricate details, he had sworn off painting similar ships ever since.

He turned away from the painting and looked across the empty space. This apartment was far too big for him, he knew that. He only needed a one bedroom or two for the studio, but there were extra rooms here that James hadn’t even considered what to do with besides additional storage.

He finally stood up, slowly walking over to his office. His fingers brushing the spines of the books along the wall. They then met the box, a simple white thing with the label _Meditations._  

Just seeing that made James look away. It was a reminder of both the time he was happy in another life, and all the things that he had lost, all the things that he’d done so, so wrong.

James finally sat down at his desk, opening his laptop to try and find out what the _fuck_ was going on in the world today.

There was an email from Abigail, the subject line just read “ _LOL_ ”. James clicked on the link anyway and was rather unimpressed by the article he saw.

“ _James McQueen, millionaire art collector, spotted shopping for furniture at Ikea._ ” Below, the article featured a rather unfortunate photo of him in his ripped jeans and with his hair only partially tied back, standing in the queue for the self-checkout. The article continued to speculate as to why he, having no shortage of money, was buying cheap furniture.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,“ he cursed out loud.

James remembered that day, it was last week, he’d gotten pissed by the lack of furniture in this way too large apartment, and the piles of books he had scattered about.

He glanced over the the unopened boxes, and sighed. Perhaps that would be the project for the day, until Abigail came over with the catalogues.

~~~~~

“Fucking Ikea!”

James sat on the floor in the middle of the living room, with a half assembled shelf.

A knock came at the door. “Uh, James, it’s me,” Abigail said as James reluctantly stood to let her in. “James, what’s going on here?” she asked, gazing at the mess of boxes and shelves in various stages of assembly.

“The fucking holes don’t line up! How the fuck am I supposed to put these shelves together if the holes don’t line up? Who the fuck designs this shit!”  

“James, what happened?” she said, suddenly focusing on his hands. “Did you get into another fight last night or have you been wrestling the furniture all day?”

“Oh. These.” James tried to hide his hands, but it was no use.

“Those bruises can’t be more than a few days old. James, you need to stop getting into fights like this!”

“Abigail, if tell you that I am trying, will it make you feel better?”

“Honestly, no. You need to get some help, James! Are you going out again this week? It’s Fleet Week, I’m worried about you.”

“Well, that was the plan. Okay then, show me the catalogues.”

“Actually, I have something for you.” She pulled a book out of her purse and handed it to him. “I’m technically not supposed to have this, and you can’t ask how I got it, but I know you’ve been waiting.”

When his eyes saw the cover he realized exactly what she brought him. This wasn’t supposed to be out here for several more days.

” _Buried Treasure: The Untold Story of Queer Pirates_ by Thomas Harper. Hot off the press, well, more or less. I know how you follow his work.”

“Abigail, I -” James just barely managed to look up. “Thank you.”

“You know, James, the catalogues can wait a few days, there’s no rush really. So if you’d rather read now, I can come back tomorrow or the day after-”

“Thank you Abigail, that would be perfect.”

~~~~~

Three months earlier when Thomas Harper announced that he was publishing a book about the 18th century queer pirates of Nassau, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Five years earlier, when James remembered everything, he spent weeks trying to find Thomas and wherever he may be, his search lead to Thomas Harper - an up and coming lecturer and author. Since then, Thomas had made tenure, become extremely vocal in the academic community and published three books about queer and often overlooked historical figures, as well as many papers and argumentative pieces in a variety of fields.

James spent many years contemplating whether to contact him, but all signs showed that he was living a happy, successful life, and there was nothing to ever suggest that he remembered. James followed his work and thought that was the best he could get, until of course, he learned about the new book. Thomas never said what exactly the book covered, but given the period, it was rather difficult to overlook James’ past achievements, although history did an excellent job of covering up the true story.

James wasn’t sure if he was delighted or slightly disappointed when he realized the book focused on Max, Anne Bonny, Eleanor Guthrie and several others that James wasn’t personally familiar with. It was incredibly written, beautiful work, he’d expect nothing less from Thomas. The careful attention to detail and the accuracy was amazing. Thomas’ technique is taking the reader on a journey, revealing the pieces of the story just as he’d discovered them, and showing how he came to his conclusions, never leaving out any important details. He was never afraid to dispute other theories some have proposed in the past, even from well known historians. Some of the documents referenced, interestingly enough, were ones that James recalled finding, and others certainly passed through his hands at one point or another.

It was nearly 4 AM when James finished reading.

James checked Thomas Harper’s website and noticed the podcast interview he just posted.

He listened intently, his voice was soft and confident as always. James closed his eyes and simply listened.

_“...I’m not quite done with pirates yet. I’ve been researching something new, and I won’t go into detail, but it certainly is a story that hasn’t been told before.”_

James sat up abruptly. Could it be? Was there a chance? Certainly this would be a good time to contact him. He could always offer to help with his research, he was a bit of a pirate expert after all, even if Thomas didn’t know who he was.

Yes. He would call him. His office phone number at the university was right there.

The line rang for what felt like minutes. James considered hanging up several times before someone finally picked up.

“Hello, can I speak to Thomas Harper?” he asked.

“This is his assistant, El, speaking. Thomas is currently out but I can take a message for you?”

“I’m a historian based in New York, and recently read his book. I enjoyed it very much, in fact just heard his latest interview. I’d like to speak to him, do you have any idea when I might be able to reach him?”

“He’s about to go on a trip, but I can leave him your number. Sorry, what was your name?”

“It’s McQu -,” he paused, perhaps it was best he not give that name, given the reputation associated with it. “Marsh, James Marsh. Please let him know that I wanted to speak to him.”

~~~~~~

The next few days went by agonizingly slow. James spent most of the day sitting within proximity of his phone, but there were no messages or calls. Perhaps Thomas never got the message, or he already left for his trip. Or perhaps he didn’t want to speak, that was always an option.

James couldn’t do anything anymore, except pace around the place. What if he remembered? What if he didn’t? James wasn’t sure which would be worse. He was already writing about pirates, that couldn’t be a coincidence. Perhaps it was just an interest, or maybe he found _something_.

An idea popped up in his head, James grabbed a shoulder bag and folded up some clothing. Perhaps this was going to be some odd way to torture himself, or perhaps his last chance to enjoy the last place he was ever truly happy before his heart would inevitably be shattered to a point he could never recover from.

          “Going to Georgia for several days. -J.”

          “What about PEN next week???”

          “I’ll be back in time.”

          “OK need me to book flight or anything?”

          “No, just taking the first available one and staying at the house but thanks.”

          “Please don’t get into a fight! Have fun :)”

~~~~

James hadn’t been to the house in a year, not since he was last in Savannah. The place was hard to visit, especially lately. As time went on since he started remembering what happened there, the most painful it was, the more realized he would likely never have that again and of all the mistakes he’d made.

James considered calling Jack, perhaps going out for a drink with him, but maybe after the way they left things it was best he didn’t. He did, after all, threaten to kill him. James considered how he probably could have handled that situation better, been nicer to Jack, but it seemed he had a bit of a three century old grudge on Captain Jack Rackham, even if the man had no recollection of what he did in this life.

James was happy to be able to drive around again, by now he knew most of the roads, and places he’d never get recognized. If he actually stayed here for more than several weeks at a time, he would consider getting a boat. Perhaps one day he would sail down here from New York.

Even now the house seemed too quiet, despite the birds chirping and the breeze through the trees. So empty, and not just because of James’ obvious lack of interest in furniture. After all, James thought, the place could never be a home again, just as James could never be whole again, not without Thomas.

~


End file.
